


Misery

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: The Road We Never Drove On [7]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble





	Misery

                _It was a dark and stormy night._

_No, David, seriously, it was a dark and stormy night. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that, because obviously you were there. But I feel that it’s necessary to mention because it’s a cliché. And you and I, really, are such a cliché, so using a cliché to introduce a cliché just seems like the way to go._

_I respect the fact that you offered to drive me home from the theatre. It was late, you didn’t want me standing out in the pouring rain trying to get a cab, you’re a gentleman, etc. You, a courteous gentleman, and me, a damsel in distress. Are you seeing the cliché yet?_

_Oh, and then you offered to run me up to my door, because you had an umbrella. So you refused to let me get out of the car while you stood in the rain, fumbling with said umbrella and getting absolutely drenched. And insisting on holding it for me as we walked up to my door._

_You kissed me. Out in the rain. Dropped the umbrella to the ground, grabbed me and kissed me._

_But David, it would be too easy if the cliché that is my life ended there._

_I do feel that it might be necessary to remind you that you’re engaged. That you have a daughter with your fiancé, a daughter less than a month old._

_Yet there we stood on the sidewalk by my front door, snogging like infatuated teenagers and getting soaked to the bone._

_What am I doing, David?_

_More importantly, what are you doing?_

_***  
_

_It’s been five days since that night and you haven’t said anything to me._

_Well, you’ve said plenty._

_You talk all the time, but you don’t say anything._

_There’s no way that I imagined it. It wasn’t a dream. Although I’ve dreamed about it since then, every night._

_Sleeping used to be my only escape from thinking about you._

_Now that’s ruined, I suppose._

_***  
_

_I couldn’t take it any longer. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I cornered you backstage, but really David, did you expect me to just ignore it forever? Look at you every day, kiss you on stage each night, and pretend?_

_Who knows why I’m bothering to ask, because you flat-out_ told _me that’s what you expected._

_You’re a twat._

_***  
_

_And tonight you brought Georgia to the theatre. Strolling around with her on your arm, both of you all smiles and charm. You’re good at charm, David._

_You’re such a fucking arse._

_I sincerely hate you._

_***  
_

_Perhaps “sincere” is too strong of a word, now that I think about it._

_Might be a good idea to replace that sentence with “I want to hate you”._

_Because really, I do. I want to hate you. I want to hate you for being my best friend and then snogging me and then somehow making me seem like the perpetrator when I asked you why you did it._

_How the hell did I do anything wrong?_

_Well, I did. Because I kissed you, and you’re engaged._

_Except that isn’t really my concern. You’re the one who made the fucked up choice._

_I just… I want to know why you did it. You weren’t drinking alcohol. You seemed to be of completely sound mind._

_So why?_

_***  
_

_You’re just fucking with me._

_There is no other possible explanation for what you’re doing._

_Because David. Coming into my dressing room before the show on_ opening night _and apologizing is not okay. Especially when that apologizing leads to more kissing._

 _Please. Tell me. In whose mind does that sound like a_ good _idea?_

_And coming back again after the stage door._

_Though at that point, I feel that I reclaimed some of my dignity. Because I told you that it wasn’t appropriate. Which is true. I told you that you’re better than that, which is true._

_I just… I wish you hadn’t gone and asked me to tell you that I had no feelings for you._

_I wasn’t willing to lie._

_All semblance of dignity was immediately lost._

_***  
_

_Am I really allowing you to make love to me in my dressing room every night while she waits for you at home?_

_Where has my pride gone? Did I lose all sense of self when I fell in love with you?_

_Well._

_It’s a great possibility._

_***  
_

_Okay, I mean it this time: I hate you._

_Really._

_Because I made the mistake of asking: Why?_

_And even though you were almost entirely naked, it was suddenly like you were covered in layers upon layers as you regarded me._

_Instead of answering the question, you picked up your clothes and left. You didn’t even bother to put anything back on. That was how much you wanted to get away from me—you’d rather face uncomfortable questions from the crew about why you’re just wearing pants, than stay with me for the time it takes to put your clothes on._

_So I hate you._

_But I love you at the same time._

_I didn’t think it was possible, but I also didn’t think it was possible for your best friend to hurt you as much as you’re hurting me._

_***  
_

_Six months until you’re a married man._

_***  
_

_Now, I think I understand what you do._

_You find a situation where you can talk._

_Where you can be honest._

_But in a controlled environment, at a moment where the clock is ticking and oh, look at that, you opened up your heart and then we have to go so I guess that’s the end of things and everything is good again._

_How did you decide that right before we went on stage to do the wedding scene was a good time to tell me that you loved me?_

_Really. I’m curious to know how you worked that out in your head._

_And I have no idea how I even successfully convinced you to return to that conversation in my dressing room later. Though return might be stretching it. Because you simply said, “I’m in love with you. But I’m a prat, so this is all I can really do about it.”_

_At least we’re not lying to ourselves about the kind of person you are._

_***  
_

_When the show is over… What comes next?_

_I’d have asked you by now, except I’m almost certain I know the answer: Nothing._

_***  
_

_Now you won’t even talk to me when we’re not in a group of people. You’ll pull me into hidden corners in the moments before our cues, and by this point my dressing room has become your second home. But we don’t talk, not like we used to._

_There’s no way I’m your best friend. Not anymore. Not when all you can stand to do with me is fuck._

_***  
_

_If you really loved me, you wouldn’t do this to me._

_***  
_

_I hate the fact that I’m so horribly angry with you, yet you can still illicit such intense reactions from me._

_There should be a law against it._

_***  
_

_I keep reminding myself that at the end of this run, everything will go back to what it was._

_And I’ll never again know what it’s like to have your hands on me._

_When you’re touching me, it’s the only time I allow myself to consider the possibility that maybe you really do love me. Because you hold me with such reverence. You hold me like you think I’ll break into tiny pieces if you put an ounce more pressure on my skin._

_Remember when you actually treated me like that all the time?_

_Your words, your eyes, your whole demeanor was… well, you seemed worried about me. You wanted me to be happy, and wanted to make me happy._

_I don’t think, after the way you’re treating me, things can really go back._

_Not for me._

_***  
_

_You said you’d bring her to the party, go home, and find an excuse to come back to me._

_Clearly that worked well._

_***  
_

_And did you really call my house when you knew I’d be out just so you could leave a voicemail as your apology?_

_Besides which, your excuse is bull shit._

_I mean really, we both know she just got you into bed as soon as you got home, right? To celebrate a job well done, I’m sure._

_The least you could do is be frank about it._

_Since we’re supposedly going back to being_ best friends _or whatever._

_Ha._

_***  
_

_When the fuck was the last time you didn’t send me to voicemail?_

_I’m dying, David. You’re killing me, slowly, so slowly._

_Each ignored call just digs a deeper hole into my heart._

_***  
_

_Halfway through my date with Jason tonight, you texted me._

Call me tonight.

_Even when I try to run away, I still have to face you, don’t I?_

_***  
_

_So you want to ruin me for males everywhere, is that your plan?_

_Because when you got angry and completely pissed, I allowed you to come home to me._

_My life is nothing but a cliché._

_A depressing cliché that everyone is sick and tired of seeing over and over._

_Thanks a lot._

_***  
_

_Do you remember my first day on the set of_ Doctor Who _?_

_You smiled at me, and shook my hand._

_Said something about how you wanted to make sure I felt completely at ease._

_And you made me feel at ease, David. You became my friend. When I came back, you were my best friend. Really. A better friend than anyone could ask for._

_Where is that friend now?_

_***  
_

_When Jason is inside me, in order to feel anything I have to picture you._

_***  
_

_You just left my flat at 2 in the morning and I’m miserable._

_***  
_

_Again with avoiding my calls._

_Your wedding is so soon._

_***  
_

_I hate myself for still loving you._

_Because hating myself is far easier than hating you._

_***  
_

_You want to know what, David?_

_I’m going to LA in a few days. To film some episodes of_ The Office _._

_While there, I’m getting a new phone and a new number._

_And I’m going to purge you from my system if it’s the last fucking thing I do. I am going to destroy every ounce of affection I have for you, all lingering feelings. I’m going to tarnish memories and you want to know what?_

_If I can’t look back fondly on our times as friends because of this summer, because of what you’ve done to me… Fuck it._

_I’m done._

_***  
_

                The manila envelope is propped up against the door when David gets home that evening. It simply says his first name in all capital letters, so he knows that it wasn’t sent by mail.

                It’s bulky, but light, and David immediately discards his jacket and bag before going down to the basement—because he knows very well that the handwriting is Catherine’s, and whatever this is he can guess that he doesn’t want Georgia to come in and see it.

                The envelope is taped closed, and she wrote on the tape too. _Don’t need these anymore; you figure out what to do with them._

                David frowns slightly. Catherine had no sentimental possessions, nothing that belonged to him that she might want to return. There were no real tangible things the two of them had shared.

                The thought of that hurts him. He didn’t share anything with the woman he loved.

                And then he tears the tape away, turns the envelope upside down.

                It all spills out everywhere—mostly paper, but also some napkins, even a few pieces of cardboard that were ripped off of cracker and cereal boxes. There have to be about two hundred pieces in front of him, all with Catherine’s writing on them. Some only have a fragment of a sentence, while others have full paragraphs. All of them are dated.

                He spends hours sorting through them all, putting them in order by date and reading them, one by one. When Georgia calls downstairs and tells him to come up and get dinner, he tells her that he’s not hungry, and is reading the script for a new project that he’s considering. She leaves him be.

                David cries. And every time it seems like his tears might be letting up, he reaches another particularly painful letter and begins to cry all over.

                Finally, he reaches the last one. Reads it, glances at the date. He fumbles for his phone immediately, dialing Catherine’s number off the top of his head because yes of course he has it memorized. If she picks up... He’ll tell her he’s sorry. He’ll tell her that he was the biggest git ever. He’ll end things with Georgia. He doesn’t even care about the wedding, about anything, he just can’t lose Catherine.

                Her number is out of service.


End file.
